


Heart Full Of Sugar

by hellhoundsprey



Series: fullofsugar!verse [2]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Crossdressing, Feminization, Gender Issues, Genderplay, Lolita Jared, Love at First Sight, M/M, Older Jensen, Puberty, Sexual Identity, Teacher Jensen, Teen Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 22:23:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6258118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/pseuds/hellhoundsprey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His new English teacher makes Jared want to be the female lead in their very own love movie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart Full Of Sugar

This happens in movies, sometimes. Not the kind of movies you can watch with other boys; the ones girls and a little sister make big eyes for when Jared agrees on them (as if he would be making a sacrifice). Movies where girls fall in love with boys and she is all nervous and lovely and working so hard to get her prince's attention. When they meet for the first time, everything slows down. Cameras zoom in on him, on her, on his darling features, on her imperfections, on the trembling of her mouth. A voice from the off often whispers: _And that's when I knew he was the one._

Jared never thought the movies would be realistic. When the door to their class opens though on this one special, magical, dusty morning, and Mr. Ackles strides through and past him, stands right in front of the class, of _Jared_ , and gives the first of so many more to come, "Good morning, class!" Jared is disabused forever and ever.

It is not like Jared hasn't kissed before, or maybe had a crush on someone; God no. But nothing ever got him this bad, this fast, this bone-infiltrating and guts-shredding. Nothing ever got him like Mr. Ackles. He doubts anything ever will. Just like in the movies; _The One_.

Jared feels like hiding in his first row seat, makes himself smaller with his shoulders rolled inwards and his head a little lowered, supported by his hand. Rarely has he been this grateful for his too-long hair that covers his eyes when he sits like this, maybe keeps the turmoil in them hidden. Mr. Ackles introduces himself efficiently; born in Texas, studied at Rice University, majored in English. He is sorry Mr. Firth won't teach them anymore but Jared really, really isn't. Jared's pen rests on the still empty page in front of him. If Jared would let it move, it would create a mess of hearts and different fonts that would all spell 'Mr. Ackles', one way or the other. The thought alone brings dryness to his mouth, a heat to the back of his head. Jared sits through this first of many periods with his dick tenting his jeans so hard he can feel it poke against the underside of his desk.

Hayley and Marsha - thank god - are his sanctuary during lunch break. Hidden between bleachers and bushes and sharing their food, three pairs of cheeks are already alit before one of them dares to say it out loud. "Mr. Ackles!" The girls squeal their laughter. Jared bites his lip.

"He's so _tall_!"

"And pretty! Have you guys ever seen someone this pretty?"

"He's like a grown-up Harry Styles, but better, because we _have_ him!"

"His _hands_ ," Marsha swoons, blinks her eyelashes as if she was in a Broadway act, "are the most beautiful things ever. I'm sure they could cover, like, all of my face at once."

 _Or half of my waist_ , Jared thinks. _Or both of my wrists._

"I'm sure he works out a lot. Sweaty, sexy, topless Mr. Ackles...!"

"Hayley!" Jared pulls his knees tighter under his chin, tries to look less glass-eyed and more annoyed.

She gives him not one but _two_ cocked eyebrows. "Leave if you want, Padalecki, 'cause I ain't stopping anytime soon."

Jared does. Not because he doesn't want to hear more of exactly this kind of stuff, more because he is afraid he might cream his pants if he lets it get to his head. His lunchbox in front of his crotch (it won't go _down;_ girls have it so much easier), Jared tries to find a comparably safe space without his friends, but fails. He ends up somewhere close to the monkey bars, alone. A short regret that he didn't bring his writing things with him, because when if not now could he indulge in the curls of a C-K-L-E-S? But no. He can't get through with these things. Boys don't draw hearts and get wet for their teacher.

Sometimes, Jared really doesn't like being a boy.

~

Weeks make him prouder. Jared now has a notebook, a special one, hidden deep and secret in the deepest and most secret of his drawers. He got a set of glitterish pens and a strawberry-scented eraser for good measure; could have passed as a gift for Megan, his little sister everybody knows he has and loves. Nobody would think he was insolent enough to use her as an alibi.

He has filled several pages by now. They are all similar but never the same. Jared's heart beats in different rhythms with every new piece of art that is nothing but Mr. Ackles' name. Just that. 'Mr. Ackles'. In curly, girly handwriting. Maybe if somebody found this, they wouldn't even dream of it to be the work of a boy.

Staring long enough at his name makes peeking at the man himself easier, too. Jared lifts his eyes sometimes now, lets his hair fall back some more to catalogue Mr. Ackles' wardrobe, his movements, the stretch of his body when he writes on the blackboard or when he sits down on the edge of his desk. Mr. Ackles has powerful thighs and slender calves. Jared imagines them hairy all the way until one glorious, glorious day, Mr. Ackles rolls up his shirt sleeves to reveal close to bare, tanned forearms. Jared jerks off in the washroom to that fact; twice. Mr. Ackles' beard though is uncontroversial. Jared comes a lot while thinking about Mr. Ackles' beard.

He spends hours on his bed, on his back, just imagining touching it with nothing but his hands. Different variations, of course - how it would be to graze it with the tips of his fingers, all soft, all careful - how it would be to grab it, to just dig into it, hold tight - to pet it as if Mr. Ackles was his dog; good dog, good boy. Jared only thinks about it grazing him in return when he already is about to come. It tips him off too quickly. His body never could produce enough sperm to let Jared fill all of his free time with the thought of Mr. Ackles' beard tickling against his neck.

"You're Jared, right?"

Jared lifts and drops his wide eyes quick enough to make his neck cramp, to make his heart stop. The hand stuffing his belongings into his rucksack decides to go putty, but he manages a nod, wishes for his hair to cover his entire face.

Mr. Ackles discards the book he has been holding and gestures to his desk, circles said desk to have a seat. "Okay, you have a minute, Jared? Just another minute, I won't let you be late, don't worry."

"Okay," Jared says, and it comes out all squeaky. He flushes harder at that, tries to get his stuff together quicker. _This is it_ , he thinks. This strange moment where everything changes. Just like in the movies.

Standing right in front of him, Jared shudders at the close-up of his teacher. He even _smells_ beautiful. Jared notices freckles, finest lines. He clutches his rucksack hard, harder than his balls are throbbing.

"Jared," Mr. Ackles says again, again, Jared's name, _Jared's_ out of all the names there are, and he flicks through his notes with his eyes all lowered, lashes all thick and pretty like no man should have them. Jared is so in love he can barely stand straight. "The other teachers an' me... We have been worrying about you lately." Mr. Ackles' eyes host all kinds of grass, moss, flower stems, and the back of Jared's head makes plans to run into the woods this afternoon to chase down everything remotely representing this shade. "Can you imagine why?"

Jared wills his head to sway from side to side.

"No? Well, you've been awfully quiet. The other teachers told me you're such a smart kid and that you participate a lot, but I haven't heard a single word from you yet."

Jared thinks there might be traces of skin cream caught in Mr. Ackles' eyebrow, maybe only sunscreen, who knows.

"What's the matter with that? Is something going on at home, maybe?"

"No," Jared says, lets his hair sway in front of his face as he shakes his head again.

"Hm," Mr. Ackles sighs, sighs all deep and troubled because of Jared, because Jared is occupying his mind. Jared holds his breath and tries to imprint this sound into his brain for later, for lunch break or washroom break and for tonight, for every night, forever. Mr. Ackles' chest is so wide, almost intimidating when he leans back in the old, creaking chair. He's always dressed so nice, almost too nice for a shitty school like theirs, as if he wanted it to shine brighter. Mr. Ackles brings light into so many, many things. Jared watches the pencil Mr. Ackles holds in between thumb, forefinger and middle finger tapping down on the paper - tap - tap - tap. "I know I'm not a guidance counselor, Jared, but if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here, okay? If there is any trouble, go ahead. Life can be very difficult, especially for young guys like y'all. I've been there-" _In love with your teacher?_ , Jared thinks. "-and believe me, getting it out helps. Always. So, yeah."

It's right there. Right on Jared's tongue, dancing syllables putting all these heart-doodles into words. They taste like crumbs of sugar and crunch between his teeth. His dick is leaking into his underwear, has been doing it ever since Jared got a whiff of Mr. Ackles' scent. Jared is so full of love he can feel it pressing up against the invisible seams of his being.

Mr. Ackles looks up at him, straight into his eyes, right through the veil of Jared's fringe. He has the eyes of someone who could be a father, but there is no wedding ring on his hand. Jared thinks it's ridiculous for him to be aware of this tiny detail (which means the world). "Keep your head up, okay? Try to take part next time - if only to soothe my poor heart." Mr. Ackles smiles here. Says 'my poor heart' and smiles without mercy for Jared's. "I'm sorry I took away your beloved Mr. Firth, seriously. From what I've heard, he was a great guy."

"No, it's fine, you're a real good teacher," Jared hears himself babble. It's out and so easy. Something Jared has told other teachers before, would tell other teachers after Mr. Ackles. It will feel and burn nothing like this ever again for anyone else, Jared thinks.

Mr. Ackles gets the sweetest little wrinkles around his eyes when he smiles so wide Jared can see the white of his teeth. "Thanks. I do my best."

"You're real good," Jared repeats; it's such an easy way to say 'I love you'.

Again, "Thank you." Then Mr. Ackles faces his notes. "Okay, buddy. That was all for today. See you on Wednesday."

At home, in his room, Jared barely has his pants down when he is already shuddering to his orgasm with Mr. Ackles' voice still in his ear.

Jared. Poor heart. Thank you. Buddy. Jared. Jared.

Three times. Mr. Ackles' said his name three whole times.

~

It's almost summer now and Jared is back to his old school routine, raising his arm and all. Mr. Ackles sweats in his lovely shirts and smiles every time Jared says something correct. Jared always says correct things. Jared studies hard every day between filling his notebook and touching himself to the thought of pressing his hands into the damp space under Mr. Ackles' arms. His fantasies have become bolder now: in his mind, he is sitting in Mr. Ackles' lap, and they exchange French kisses. Mr. Ackles rubs Jared's shoulders and his back and tells him he is a good boy. His good little boy. Jared messes up his belly every time before he can even start to imagine those hands slipping into the back of his shorts.

Top student, teacher's pet. Jared is used to it and proud like never before. It's a wonderful day, temperatures a little lower than yesterday, and Jared feels alive. The homework gets collected and passed to the front, to him, naturally, while everyone else gathers their things to head outside. Jared takes his time to get the sheets of paper all neat and puts his own on top. His handwriting is not curly at all, all matter of fact, all proper, like him. He feels good when he gets up, doesn't need anything to press into his lap because he can control it now (kind of) and takes the tiny few steps until he reaches Mr. Ackles' desk. Just when he extends his arms to hand over the papers, Mr. Ackles reaches out to take them. They bump into each other.

"Oh," Mr. Ackles gasps; sweetest little apology. Jared lights up inside and doesn't make a sound, sets the papers down.

He doesn't exactly know why he does it. It's a too good day and he is too brave, too self-assured, so he allows himself to let his fingertips run along the bare line of Mr. Ackles' forearm as he withdraws his hand.

It's a spark, somewhere deep, deep, deep. Jared has his eyes on the faint twitch of Mr. Ackles' knuckles, the shine of his wristwatch, the little piece of skin Jared touched just now.

Eventually, and Jared will spend a lot of time later to remember if he really heard it, Mr. Ackles breathes a faint, "Thank you," almost too soft to be heard by or meant for anyone but Jared who stands so close, so so close.

Jared cries at home, before and while and after masturbating, lets the sobs turn his throat raw and his mouth spit-thick. It's one part happiness, one part grief. It shouldn't be possible to feel this way for your teacher; Jared knows alright. Has seen movies, has read books, and nowhere ever does it turn out great for anyone.

When it comes to heartache, movies are incredibly and brutally honest.

~

Mr. Ackles looks surprised. Jared cannot identify if it's a positive or negative thing. Not like he cared anymore, but it's a habit by now to read Mr. Ackles.

"Uhm... What are you doing here?"

"You said if I needed to talk...?"

"Yeah, but... But I meant at, at _school_ , Jared!" A nervous twitch of eyebrows, slightest frown. Mr. Ackles leans some more into Jared's direction, out of the doorframe. "Where'd you get my address from, anyway?"

"I didn't do anything illegal," Jared offers, but neither does he peach against the all-too-motherly secretary. A timid step forward, as far as his shaking knees can get him. "May I come in? Please?"

There is worry on Mr. Ackles' face. He scratches his beard and Jared concentrates all his willpower on keeping his dick in line. "You...!" An unnerved sigh. Jared keeps staring at the third of the undone buttons down Mr. Ackles' chest. Jared hears the front door swinging open some more. His heart flutters. "You're really something, you know that?"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't mention it. Come in."

Jensen (Mr. Ackles' holy first name; Jared got it for free along with his address) has a nice home. Spacey. Chic. Smelling and feeling like Heaven, just like himself. Jared loves it instantly after only seeing the entranceway and the open living room.

Papers are scattered all over the coffee table. The giant TV is running. Baseball. Mr. Ackles strides back there as if he needed to tidy up now that one of his students is here to see it. He is so lovely it makes Jared's throat hurt. "So, uh, okay? Talking? About what? Someone givin' you trouble?"

Jared cried his way through the past few days. He is done. Done and done. His notebook is full. He would need to get a new one to keep doing what he is doing and he is not sure he can take putting his hands on another piece of pink stationery without busting a nut or bawling his eyes out. Everything in his head is Mr. Ackles. He dreams of him, thinks of him, gives him imaginary kisses. There's a hidden browser entry from when he was brave and headless enough to go search for porn actors that look a little like his dearest teacher. That one didn't end well. Everything is scary, and Jared is tired of being scared.

So what he says is, shoulders inwards and foot trailing over the ground, "Yeah, in a way."

"Okay?" Mr. Ackles huffs. When Jared doesn't continue - can't, is too scared, maybe this was a bad idea after all -, he adds with a gorgeous roll of even more gorgeous eyes, "Now come on, Jared, don't make me worm it out of you."

Jared keeps his eyes down. He should move, should. It would be better to be close, to maybe feel the warmth radiating off of Mr. Ackles while he says what he came here to say. Would make it better. But he can't move. Not an inch. Can drag his foot, yes, can draw circles and the entire alphabet with it right here in the hallway of Mr. Ackles' beautiful house that smells like coffee and showers and dust and books and summer, but Jared's pulse beats to violently that he is afraid one wrong move could make him combust.

Another while passes like this.

"Jared," Mr. Ackles sighs eventually, so painfully far away.

Then, Mr. Ackles starts moving. Towards Jared. Right in front of Jared.

Is all beautiful and handsome and nothing anyone in Jared's reach could give to Jared _and doesn't even know_ , and he's all soft and careful with Jared sometimes, when he's afraid Jared is taking something too hard, when he maybe looks too troubled over his notes, his homework. Because Mr. Ackles is such a wholesome person, he puts his hand on Jared's shoulder to give him comfort and coos, "C'mon, lemme hear it. I'm sure it's only half as bad as you think it is."

There is only such a thin layer of t-shirt between Mr. Ackles' skin and Jared's. Judging by the intensity of the warmth though, Jared could as well be naked. _Is_ naked, in a way, under Mr. Ackles' eyes. "I, uh." He sways, wants to move and yet not move ever again. His throat clicks when he swallows and he is sweating, dizzy, feels his dick chubbing up quickly and his heart racing and his eyes going wet. "I, uh, I... Mr. Ackles... I..."

"Hey," Mr. Ackles breathes, and Jared feels a thumb sliding under the wet row of lashes under his eyes, "hey, Jared. It's alright, buddy. Hey."

It only works because Mr. Ackles bends his knees a little to be closer to Jared's height, to be at eye level. Surely only a pedagogical thing, sure, but if Mr. Ackles wasn't exactly like he is, Jared never could have pressed his lips right onto Mr. Ackles'.

Somewhere in the back of Jared's head, a director shouts, 'Perfect take!'

Another hand on Jared's other shoulder, and suddenly Mr. Ackles' mouth is gone, just as quick as it came, and Jared's eyes pop open in horror, shock, surprise, loss. Mr. Ackles makes a mean sound, something offended and hurt (something like, "WOAH!") , and it makes Jared's eyes water even harder, floods them. He knew it would be like this, knew it would, knew it would.

"Buddy, hey, shhh, take it slow, woah; calm- calm down, okay, jus'- Jared, just... What were you _thinking_?! What _was_ that right now?!"

Jared sobs, "I don't know."

"You can't just _do_ something like this! I'm your teacher, I'm- This is not okay, Jared!"

"I know. I'm sorry. I know. I know."

"Stop crying, please. Please. C'mon, buddy, boys don't cry."

Jared wails louder.

Instead of pushing Jared away, out of the door, out of everything, Mr. Ackles' decides for curling his arms around him instead, presses him so close to his chest Jared considers that he might be dying. His arms rush out to grab at Mr. Ackles' back in turn, hold on here for dear life as his knees give out and he sobs his heart out against the man who stole it in the first place.

Weeks, months of... of _everything_ pour from Jared. From his eyes, all packed into fat, salty droplets; straight into Mr. Ackles' shirt. He is held here, pressed close here, and every sob turns their grips tighter. Jared is drowning in his own tears and the heat and smell of his true love.

"Shhh." Mr. Ackles' cradles him like something precious, like something not despicable. Mr. Ackles is too good for both this world and Jared. "It's alright. It's alright. It's all gonna be alright. Calm down, Jared. You're gonna be okay."

"I'm not!" It sounds muffled against Mr. Ackles' chest.

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm NOT!" Jared wrestles himself free, anger suddenly overtaking him, and he manages to push himself off of Mr. Ackles far enough to see his face - all confused and pale and still so beautiful that Jared's brain shuts off right away and he surges into another kiss, right into the plush of Mr. Ackles' mouth. He is quick enough to get a hand on Mr. Ackles' cheek, to cradle the scruff he adores so much, just before Mr. Ackles pushes him off anew, grabs him by the wrist and holds it down, away, and Jared is panting now from the struggling, feels Mr. Ackles' muscles bulging under him, against him. Mr. Ackles has never been this beautiful and untouchable as in this very moment, and Jared is aware of the tear of every little fiber in his heart.

"Jared!" Mr. Ackles growls his name as if that would make any difference. As if it wouldn't drive Jared's hard-on against the top if his thigh harder at the sound of it.

Jared knew it would happen. Knew it would happen kind of like this. He's a realist whenever he is not thinking about Mr. Ackles. He knows he will never be this close to him again, never, and that this is no movie and that he is not the girl who gets chosen by the hero and gets to marry him, to be with him. He knows, and maybe because of that, all of his longing and sadness and love pours out of him with his final, " _Please_."

Mr. Ackles is staring down at him, is still holding him, still breathing hard, still all Jared ever wanted. When Jared tries to free his wrist once more - to slip away, to say farewell, to get the front door open and disappear forever -, the grip holding it dissolves. Jared's fist knocks on top of Mr. Ackles' chest. He lets it fan out when nothing else seems to happen, when Mr. Ackles only breathes and stares, stares and breathes, and even when Jared's hand slides up and gets to neck, beard, cheek, and even when Jared gets on his toes once more, Mr. Ackles doesn't stop him. Not really. Still holds him - but there is nothing else.

Jared kisses the one more time he never thought he would get, and he kisses it right from Mr. Ackles' unmoving mouth.

His own breath hitches. Mr. Ackles' beard makes soft noises under his palm, his fingers, and Jared returns said noise with one of his own, lets it slip out from the small gap between his lips that then return right back to Mr. Ackles', like a promise, like a lover.

Jared feels tears again, but this time it is caused by nothing but sweet, insane pain.

Jared has kissed before. He kisses again, harder, more insistent. He turns his head to smash their mouths even closer together, moves, huffs a sound. If Mr. Ackles hadn't pulled him off right then and there, Jared would have come into his pants from only one more second like this.

Mr. Ackles looks different. Confused, angry, but different. Twitching eyes, deeper frown, lips slightly redder where Jared kissed them.

And then, Mr. Ackles' tongue peeks out and swipes Jared's taste from Mr. Ackles' lips.

"You should go."

A push sends Jared backwards, away. Jared still can't stop staring at Mr. Ackles' mouth.

"Leave. _Now_."

Jared doesn't feel his hands or legs as he opens the door and runs.

~

His breath won't go back to normal. Jared has been curled into a ball underneath his bed ever since he came home hours ago (hours?), tries to make a sense out of what happened.

Something. There is something.

Not _no_ thing. _Some_ thing.

By the time night has settled and dipped his hiding place into deepest darkness, has made his mother knock on his door several times to remind him of dinner - by this time, Jared realizes he took more than what he left at Mr. Ackles' today.

~

Mr. Ackles doesn't look into Jared's direction in class. When Jared raises his hand, he is being picked as always, sure, but those eyes never lift for him.

Uneasiness. Set shoulders. A hard mouth. Jared has felt it softer. This game goes on for the next few weeks.

~

He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not.

Jared murders countless flowers.

~

When Jared decides to make another move, Mr. Ackles tenses because he knows. Can read it in Jared's body language as much as Jared can read everything in him. It gives a shiver down Jared's back, all the way down to his balls.

Jared starts with, "Mr. Ackles..." and is shushed with, "No, Jared," but Jared stands close to Mr. Ackles' desk nevertheless. Angry eyes slot up at him before they remember, but Jared has got them already then. Caught. His heart races up into his throat. Students around them are busy getting home, rush by without a glance. Jared's friends are not in the same class as him; no distractions left. "Can I talk to you? Please?"

Jared has to get back to his seat to grab his rucksack to press into his lap when Mr. Ackles grumbles, "Lemme finish this here first," after a short but heartbreaking hesitation.

Jared waits. Sits and waits while Jensen scribbles notes. Jared put on his favorite shirt today, Marsha's favorite pair of jeans. Good luck charms. They make him feel positive. He feels his cheeks beaming, his heart pumping. A good kind of foolish. Better than crying into come-crusted tissues.

"This can't continue, Jared," Mr. Ackles mutters eventually.

Shy blink. "What do you mean?"

" _This_." And Mr. Ackles looks negatively confused, even a little furious. Keeps his voice down even though nobody is around, not even down the hall. "I'm your teacher. I get that you're... curious. But I'm not the right target for this kind of curiosity."

Jared's heart crumbles; very softly, because he prepared himself for this to happen... but still.

Jared can't answer. There is nothing to answer to.

Mr. Ackles frowns at him with something like pity on his face. "It's not right. You know that, don't you? That's something you do with someone your age. So, please, stop looking at me like that, especially in class." Eyes back to the papers, smaller voice. "I could lose my job over this."

Yes. Yes. Jared knows all these things. He knows them in and out, couldn't think of anything else even if he tried. Oh, he tried so many times, endless times. He frowns himself now. How doesn't Mr. Ackles know Jared thought about it like this? Doesn't Mr. Ackles know he's smart?

They say it a lot. In TV, in movies, in books, in front of other adults - oh, that's just a stupid little phase. It will end eventually. We will all look back and have a good laugh. Hormones. Teenagers. No brains, no idea of how the real world works. All in their stupid little heads.

Jared is not stupid.

"If I was a girl," he bites into the thick chalk-air of their shared classroom, his chest tight and tighter and yet exploding with every new syllable, "it would be different, right?"

Mr. Ackles' eyes, of course, are back at that. Jared doesn't think Mr. Ackles noticed the girl-jeans on Jared's legs, the purple pens, the never-dirty edges of Jared's fingernails. Mr. Ackles doesn't look at him that way. "I'm not queer, if that's what you mean."

It hits him deep and nasty, like a brick to his stomach. But he nods. Nods because he knows, sure. It's never easy. Never that easy. "Yeah, okay," he chokes, nods, frowns, digs his nails deeper into the material of his rucksack. "Okay."

"Okay," Mr. Ackles mirrors. Hopefully and most probably feels bad for making Jared cry. Again. Makes Jared cry a lot, but it's never his fault, not really. It's not anyone's fault Jared was born a boy and way too late, too, in order to be right for Mr. Ackles. Wrong stars aligned when God formed Mr. Ackles and him, created a sick joke that turns Jared's cheeks wet in this lonesome classroom.

When Jared gets up to leave, there is something telling him that Mr. Ackles wants to say more right now - maybe an empty apology, a supposed-to-be-cheering joke ending with 'buddy'. It's the last thing Jared wants to hear, so he dashes out of the room and away, home, away.

~

Marsha and him have the same jeans size. When he asks her if she would be okay with him trying one of her skirts, she shrugs and tells him to go ahead. He loves her dearly and if they hadn't kissed and agreed on staying friends a long time ago, he would feel so very terribly bad for using her for her pretty clothes.

The first skirt on Jared's boy hips is almost too wide, leaves a neat gap between belly and seam. It twirls all pretty when he moves in front of the mirror, stares at himself over his shoulder, faces himself again - thinks it suits him. Knee-length, navy blue. Suitable for church.

He doesn't see Marsha squinting, but he hears her. "Is your _dick_ getting hard?"

"No," he hushes.

Jared watches both of his hands pressing down over a traitorous bulge where there shouldn't be one. He watches himself frowning.

~

As the youngest sibling, Megan came into this world as the sweetest present. She doesn't get everything, of course, but she gets a lot Jared would have wanted, too. Too _old_ this time for his luck to strike - Megan came three years after him.

The walls of her room are painted baby pink. She still loves it, just like she loves her dolls, her plushies. Jared might love them more but he also loves Megan, and they share without Megan knowing. Jared shares love and in return gets to be soft in this room. Maybe even more than their parents, Jared loves his little sister.

Maybe this is why it's hard. Why it feels like betrayal when he stands here, alone, while Megan is over at one of her friends'. It's _their_ room. They _play_ here. There's a lot of sunlight in this room and it's always nice and cozy. The soft pink walls turn everything so cozy. Soft. Lovely. It's a sacred room. Jared's wrongness shouldn't go into this room.

And yet, here he is. Pink-cheeked, breath a little faster, heart a little up to his tonsils. Hand hesitant on the knob of his little sister's closet. He knows what's in there. He knows exactly which things he wants to take out. It would only take a moment. He could try them on and put them back in the matter of minutes, and nobody would know.

Jared can hear his mother downstairs, chatting with Jared's big brother. Jared can smell pie; it's almost time for coffee, Dad will come home soon. His dear family, all there, and he will never be able to explain why he is like this. Why he needs to do this. Why he needs to betray, to be wrong.

It happens so quickly that Jared is light-headed, feels himself tremble when the soft fabrics graze his skin, and suddenly he is in the bathroom, the door locked. The plan had been to leave the jeans on underneath, just to see if the size was right. Somehow, he stares at himself in the tall mirror on the other side of the room, and his legs are bare down to where his jeans are pooling around his ankles, his day-old socks.

It's perfect. As if it was made for him. Him. Out of everyone, this was made for _him_.

Jared's fingertips dance along the seam. A little high up. Definitely not for church, for nobody, nowhere.

But his mother doesn't call. No phone rings. No dog barks.

The world has come to a halt. For Jared. For this very moment.

A sweet certainness whispers to Jared that in all these entire fifteen years of his life, he never ever looked as pretty as in this very moment.

~

From his hideout in the bushes, Jared can clearly hear the soft tunes of music enthralling him from the house he longs to be inside ever since he knew it existed. He has been sitting here for a good twenty minutes now, caught between listening and panicking. It's a good plan, somehow. Foolish, sure, but he needs to do this. Or does he? He hugs his rucksack tighter, feels his stomach turning.

Someone could see him walking down the street these last few steps. That's concern number two. Concern number one, of course, is a door in his face. The latter would hurt more, the first would be so much more dangerous. It's a small town. Mr. Ackles could lose his job. Nobody but Jared is out here though, it seems. It's a lonely street far out in the suburbs. Not many families. Cheap rent, old houses - bachelors and businessmen. College students. Hippies. Teachers, apparently. It's evening but not _that_ late. Everyone seems to dwell in the last rays of sunshine before the sun sets for good, maybe. Jared chews on his lip at the thought of Mr. Ackles sprawling on his patio, marking his class' latest tests. Maybe his. Sees Jared's name and thinks of him. Thinks of being kissed, thinks of Jared's sunny heat in his arms, the little furnace of a heart that burns for nobody but him - doesn't even know. Thinks he's a random something for Jared, a crush, a wet dream. The thought angers Jared deep enough to make him huff, hold his breath, and finally change. All in the bushes. All secret, all out in the open air. Nobody here to see, hopefully, oh God _please_.

Shaking hands shove a rucksack harder and deeper into the greens (which have the entirely wrong shade, by the way) and then Jared stumbles onto the sidewalk, feels silly with his everyday sneakers like this, but Mom has the wrongest size and a way too good sense for mischief and lent things. She doesn't even own any more but one pair he would have wanted to borrow. Not elegant enough. Jared feels naked with too long legs, socks not reaching quite high enough. Half of calf. It will have to do.

More urgency than predicted and he's pressed up against the front door, forefinger bending into the buzzer and eyes pulsing with the violence of his own heart. Someone whispers, "Open up, open up, please, pleasepleaseplease," and Jared realizes it's _him_ , him all in panic and maybe hints of tears and oh God, this _is_ a terrible idea, is-

There's a sound at the other side of the door and Jared only just now realizes the peephole, chokes as he almost feels stabbed by something - and then the door slides open, too out of the blue and wide for Jared not to fall into the gap it creates, fingers rescuing on the door frame, fortunately.

Mr. Ackles' face is in complete wonder. Complete miracle. The endlessness of his eyes makes Jared shudder, makes his knees knock together where he almost fails to stand on his feet. He feels like choking, like dying, like coming out of his skin.

"I," he starts, "I- I-"

The pain of Mr. Ackles' hand grabbing and pulling Jared by his upper arm layers toxically over that cursed hissing of, "Jesus fucking _Christ_ ," and Jared has never before been this delirious about blasphemy.

Mr. Ackles slams the door closed and Jared right up against it, his fingers like iron in Jared's too-soft flesh, Mr. Ackles so close Jared can taste the summer heat from skin and clothing, can smell a hint of ginger ale and sunscreen. Jared gasps but no air ever makes it into him.

There are the few seconds where nothing happens, where everything could happen. Jared still stares into Mr. Ackles' eyes, could never stop doing it when it's only them, can't stop thinking about doing it even in class; and Mr. Ackles stares right back. His face is strangely twisted. For all these terrible, quiet seconds, a part of Jared steels himself against a fist into his face, his stomach, anywhere. It could happen, but it doesn't.

Nothing happens. Nothing, until Mr. Ackles hisses from close enough for Jared to taste it, "What the hell are you _doing_?!"

And so it bursts from Jared. As much as it hurts, it also feels like letting loose of something he never would have needed to hold on to anyway. "You said you liked girls," he wheezes, unable to blink, to move, to do anything but be wedged between door and outer world and Mr. Ackles' force, "so I'll _be_ a girl!"

Again, nothing.

Nothing but emptiness in Jared, wetness behind his eyes. Mr. Ackles smells like everything Jared could ever wish for.

"For you," he adds, all unnecessarily, all foolishly. But it's true. If anything, it's true.

Nothing, no atom of Mr. Ackles seems to move. When Jared thinks he sees something, thinks there is something changing, happening, he already twists his face away from a fist that never comes - loses all breath from a bone-crushing hug he never saw coming.

"What are you _doing_?!" he hears, somewhere close to his ear, somewhere close to where Mr. Ackles' hand holds the back of his head close, presses and angles it into the crook of his neck, chin on Mr. Ackles' shoulder as far as it can reach at all; knows and thinks and knows he isn't doing anything, nothing at all, is held and hugged and oh God.

Mr. Ackles _is holding him_.

Jared realizes he is holding right back. Has his arms around Mr. Ackles' back and holds on, holds on maybe just as hard as Mr. Ackles is holding on to him. Jared gulps for air and chokes on the taste of Mr. Ackles' clothes, laundry detergent, cologne, sweat, to the dig of white-knuckled fingers into the back of his sleeveless top, feels it riding up the small of his back, the little knot on the side now sitting a little too high, and maybe he is gripping Mr. Ackles' shirt hard enough to do the same to him, too. Jared's eyes are wide open, but he doesn't see a thing. Feels and is everything, but couldn't describe it if he had to. He just... _is_.

" _Jared_ ," and the way Mr. Ackles says it pushes Jared's heart against his ribs, pushes tears down his cheeks and what was left of his breath out of his lungs; like a whisper, like a plea, like close to tears himself, like dying, like _pain_. "Jared, what are you _doing_ to me?"

Jared's body twists and rearranges at the crush of Mr. Ackles' body, sobs at the shift of scruff over the delicate line of his neck where Mr. Ackles buried himself, where he is suffocating on his words, in the scent of Marsha's bubblegum perfume and Jared's boy sweat; and Jared's toes don't even touch the ground anymore at this point - he hangs on and flies.

Jared presses his face into Mr. Ackles' neck and squeezes his eyes hard enough for it to hurt.

He will never let go again, ever again. Never. He will _die_ here. It's settled.

"Jared," and maybe Jared _is_ dying, "Jared. Jared."

The world is curling, spinning, everything shifting, falling apart, settling anew. Mr. Ackles shifts under him, against him, like water, like an animal, warm and strong and hard and soft and everything, everything. Jared feels and hears himself sobbing, quaking, teeth clattering and then soft noises from where Mr. Ackles is kissing him, right on his mouth, all wild and wide and so hungry it scares Jared anew, makes his eyebrows draw tight and his muscles clench, his fingers digging deeper into Mr. Ackles' back.

All too soon, Mr. Ackles' mouth is gone again, leaving as quick as it came, and Jared grinds his cheek into Mr. Ackles' in search of it, sniffs and chokes for it, but instead, Mr. Ackles is pushing off of him now, no, no, not now, no. "Oh God," he hears, sobs along wordlessly, "Oh God. What. What is- I-"

"Please," Jared begs, "please, Mr. Ackles, I- I _can_ be a girl! I will be such a good girl for you." Hands roam into Mr. Ackles' beard, just like in Jared's dreams. His love flows in thick rivers and feels so so warm on his cheeks. "Please, just _like_ me! Please. Please, Mr. Ackles. I just want you to like me back!"

Mr. Ackles brings their foreheads together so hard it hurts, sends Jared's jaw knocking, his eyes squeezing. He hurts in silence, holds on, is held. He can feel Mr. Ackles breathing hard, just like him, feels hot air rushing from Mr. Ackles' nose and digs his teeth into his lips to be able to bare all this.

"You don't even know half of what you're saying," Jared hears.

"But I mean it."

"So you like me?"

"Yes. Yes. So much."

"How much?"

"A lot. So much it hurts."

"Hurts?"

Frantic nodding, gasp of air. "Hurts all the time. When I think of you."

"You think of me?"

"Always. Yes. All the time. I." Glimpse of a hesitation, washed away with the next rush of breath by his Mr. Ackles. "I wasn't like this. Didn't use to be like this, I swear. I'm not crazy, I swear, y'gotta believe me, Mr. Ackles. I can be different, however you want. I wanna be whatever you want, Mr. Ackles."

Again, warning, wavering, " _Jared_."

"Please." Mr. Ackles' mouth tastes like bubbles and classroom. A hint of Jared, too. He shoves his tongue forward but there are teeth blocking the way, a snarl twisting somewhere behind them. Jared's fingers grip harder, must scratch, must hurt, but Mr. Ackles doesn't let go of him, not a bit. It hurts. Everything hurts. "I jus' wanna be your girl, Mr. Ackles. Please. _Please_. Let me be your-"

Everything spins and Jared flies, holds on, feels Mr. Ackles heart hammering in both chest and back, and suddenly he hits something, is thrown onto something - realizes it's a piece of furniture, something soft, a sofa - and Mr. Ackles presses him back into it, makes him sit, makes him stare up at him.

The setting sun makes the sweat on Mr. Ackles' forehead shine and brings stars into those painful eyes. Mr. Ackles looks beautiful when he is hurting, Jared learns, here and now.

"Sit. Calm down. Let's. Let's just calm down for a second. Okay?"

Jared, of course, nods all silly, all wild. He'd do anything Mr. Ackles tells him to do.

"Okay," that mouth sighs, groans, keeps Jared's shaking and heaving frame pinned against the backrest of the sofa as his own sinks down. "Okay. Okay."

They try hard to catch their breath, but it seems like a pointless thing to do. Jared is aching and drenched in sweat, knows he is wet under his skirt, is as ashamed and uncaring as he didn't even know he could be. His hands want to come up to cover himself, that so not female part on him, this error that keeps Mr. Ackles from loving him, but Mr. Ackles keeps his arms like presents, pants and sweats and is so beautiful right in front of Jared.

A car drives by outside. They can hear it, not see it. There still is a world outside of this house, this door. Jared is incapable of processing that truth. He doesn't want it to be.

Mr. Ackles sounds tired when he asks, "Where did you get these?"

"I borrowed them," Jared mutters.

"Did you ask before you borrowed them?"

A painful inhale. "No."

"So you stole them."

"No. No, I will give them back."

"Please just tell me there are shorts somewhere underneath that thing, Jared."

"No," Jared breathes, shakes his head, feels tears, sweat. Suddenly, his hands _can_ move. "They would've peeked out, so, so I..."

Only when Mr. Ackles bolts right in front of his eyes, Jared realizes he is holding the hem of the skirt in all of his ten fingers. That he is _lifting_ the skirt. That Mr. Ackles can _see_ where he has his head bowed like an old man, like a poor, poor man.

He sounds like one, too, when he suddenly and violently lets go of Jared's shoulders, grabs his face instead, jolts upright, curses wild things like, "Shit," like, "Oh God," like, " _Jared_!"

"I'm sorry," Jared whines as his hands let go, let the skirt settle back over the borrowed girl panties, "I'm, I just, I jus-just wanted to, to be how you like it, so I, so...!"

A hand stretches in front of Jared's face. He realizes he started to get up and into Mr. Ackles' space again. "Gimme. Gimme a... a moment. Please. Jared." Mr. Ackles' face is hidden in his other hand.

Jared sits back, sniffs audibly, is still shaking, brings his knees together. "I'm sorry," he repeats again, quietly, urgently.

Mr. Ackles starts pacing the room. Jared watches in pain.

"I'm sorry," Jared repeats, louder now, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Stop apologizing; god, Jesus fucking-"

A pain in Jared's chest. "... Cursing is bad, Mr. Ackles..."

A heavier pain at the sound Mr. Ackles makes.

Jared's love stands far away, shakes, rubs both hands through his face, groans and sighs and repeats it all over. When Mr. Ackles finally turns around again, he looks almost like a different man - and Jared still loves him.

What remains from the earlier deep, angry frown, has faded into something softer. It could almost be lovely if it wasn't so heartbreaking, too. "Why, Jared? Why are you doing this? Why _me_?"

And Jared says, "Because I love you," like it's right and easy and not his own. Like something right. Like something that's destined to be.

Mr. Ackles blinks once, maybe twice, doesn't move much more than that. Mr. Ackles still looks tired. Looks like he ran a hundred miles, like someone ripped his guts out. Maybe is as empty as Jared feels, too.

There is a world outside somewhere. It's far away and right here, present and unimportant, everything and nothing.

From a place Jared didn't know could exist, his love asks him, "What could a man like me ever offer to a girl like you?"

While something inside Jared dwindles, something else puts forth its delicate buds.

Jared feels soft rayon under his fingers.

"All of you," something breathes.

Jared watches Mr. Ackles' eyes drifting off, away, closed. When they are back, they are full and deep, endless, bottomless. There is nothing but Jared in them.

"You really are something. You know that?"

There is not a single tear left in Jared. Nothing.

Nothing but sweet, insane pain.


End file.
